The following are excerpts from the diary of Ruth Ellen Van Reken. Van Reken’s parents were missionaries to West Africa, and Letters Never Sent are one child’s response to life as a global nomad.

Chapter 3 – A Year in the States
June, 1953

Dear God,

One thing I like about being a missionary kid is the trips back and forth to America. You’ve made a big world, and it’s fun to see a lot of it. I liked the boat and train rides in Holland (the art museum was kind of boring –who’s Rembrandt, anyway?). I especially like it that breakfast in the hotel dining room comes with the price of the room. Eating there makes me feel more like other people. I don’t like it when I see everyone else going to little cafes and restaurants, while we sit on a bench with a bag of bread, ham, and cheese that we bought in a store. I’m ashamed to tell you this, God, when I know I get to do lots of special things, but sometimes I wish I had a little more money.

-Ruth Ellen

Dear God,

Thanks for getting us safely to America. I was surprised when the lady met us in New York. She wore red lipstick and nail polish and even earrings! In Africa we could tell who was a Christian and who wasn’t by whether or not they did those things. Are your rules different here?

-Ruth Ellen

September, 1953

Dear God,

Thanks for helping me today. You knew I was scared to start a new school, but everybody seemed nice. The kids thought it was neat that I was from Africa, but they sure asked a lot of dumb questions, like how many lions and tigers I’ve seen or killed! Nobody believes me when I say none. And they’ve never even heard of Nigeria—everyone thinks I mean Algeria or Siberia. Well, at least they’re friendly.

-Ruth Ellen


November, 1953

Dear God,

I really wish someone hadn’t given us that heavy pink underwear for winter. I know they think we’ll freeze here without it, because we’re used to Africa, but I wish we could wear the same kind of underpants that everyone else does. Why will we freeze if they don’t?

I get so embarrassed when we have to take off our leggings in the coat room. I try to keep the underpants hidden, but I can’t because they reach all the way to the top of my knees.

All I want is to be like the other kids. Jesus, you were kind of poor, too. Did you ever feel like that?

-Ruth Ellen

In gym class we wore shorts, and it was hard to pull my underpants high enough to be covered by the shorts. One day one of the legs had loose elastic. I kept hitching at it, until I had to run around the circle in a game—then the whole leg fell down to my knee.

December, 1953

Dear God,

Why did you let that happen today? Everyone laughed when the leg of my underwear slipped, but I couldn’t stop running or my team would have lost. The more I tried to keep it from showing, the more the other kids laughed. I told you I hated that underwear, God. I’m so ashamed I could die.

-Ruth Ellen

April, 1954

Dear God,

Did my parents doubt for a second what my answer would be? I couldn’t believe it when they asked if we would like to stay at home for school next term. The answer could only be yes! A thousand yeses!

I can’t believe they’re willing to teach us themselves, or that they even thought of it. I know of only one other family that tried it, but only lasted a year for them. Everyone at boarding school, including me, said they were big babies and had to stay by their mommy. I suppose we were jealous. I know my friends will say the same about me. I don’t like that, but it will be worth it to be with my family.

Do I want to stay home? Yes! Yes! Yes!

Chapter 4—The Stay Home Years

From 1954 to 1958 my parents kept us at home with them on the mission station, and my mother taught us. They weren’t being defiant or trying to prove anything to anyone. They just made the decision that seemed best for our family.

April, 1958

Dear Mom and Dad,

These four years at home with you are a blur of happy memories. Mostly what I remember are simple things like eating three meals a day together as a family. (Though I didn’t always like getting up so early to have breakfast together before you left to teach school, Dad.)

I loved being free to go where I wanted and do what I thought was fun (as long as you agreed!). I know a school needs lots of rules to keep a hundred kids organized, but I loved not having to conform to all those extra demands.

Thanks for letting me go to the villages on Sundays with the language students. To see smallpox firsthand and to see the toddler who burned his head when he rolled into the fire were things I never could have experienced away at school.

My only uncomfortable memories are of going on vacation near the boarding school. I always felt that the kids were mocking us. They teased me about my ugly hair and told in-jokes to let me know I was an outsider.

When the other kids from our station came home for vacation, they went on and on about how great boarding school was. Sometimes I thought maybe I was just a big baby for preferring to stay home. Once in a while I even felt sorry about some things they did that we couldn’t, like having field days. But I never, not even for a minute, wanted to change.

I don’t know if the other missionaries understood why you kept us with you. Maybe you’ve been criticized for it more than I know, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’ve had four years of family life that we wouldn’t have if you hadn’t dared to do what seemed right to you. Thank you, thank you, for keeping us all together. I do love you.

-Ruth Ellen

May, 1958

Dear Mom and Dad,

Today we’re leaving Africa. I’m glad we’ll be together for a year of furlough, but it’s unbearable to think that I may never again see my home or closest friends or the country that I love so much. It’s sort of like death—to lose your whole world in one moment.

Of course, it will be nice to see Grandma again. But, really, I know the people here better than I know her; after all, I haven’t seen her for four years. I’ve lived here eleven of my thirteen years. Now, just like that, I’m expected to leave it forever and go “home”.

What is home? A house? A country? A feeling? Sometimes I wonder if my strong desire to be a missionary is really God’s call or just my way to cope with leaving. I only know that my small hope of returning is the only thing that dulls my pain today.

-Ruth Ellen

June, 1958

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thanks for being parents who live by principles instead of just rules.

You’ve always said that movies themselves aren’t good or bad, it’s what is shown in them. But we’ve never gone to any, for fear of offending other Christians who might feel different about it.

But today, when we asked to see the Walt Disney film here on the ship, you said okay. There was no one to offend, and the movie was good!

I like it that you didn’t change the reasons, just to make a rule stick. You make Christianity seem alive and real, instead of dead and buried.

-Ruth Ellen

Chapter 5 – Eighth Grade Blues

September, 1958

Dear Mom and Dad,

Was it hard for you to talk with your parents when you were thirteen? There are so many things I wish I could say to you, but even though the words race through my brain, they won’t come out of my mouth. Sometimes I wish you could guess what’s happening inside me.

You know how anxious I’ve been for eighth grade to start. My memories of third grade in this school are happy, so I figured it would be the same this time around. It’s not. Instead of thinking it’s neat to be from Africa, the other kids seem to think it’s weird. I wore my very best outfit today, but it looked all wrong.

In seventh grade there’s another girl, Roxanne, who just came back from another African country. She really looks out of it; her hair is pulled straight back in a ponytail, and her clothes are very plain and don’t fit well. I’m sure I’m not as bad as that (am I?). She wants so bad to be friendly, but the kids act like she’s directly from out of space.

It wasn’t a very good day—it felt like icy fingers squeezing around the pit of my stomach. I just don’t understand the rules of the game. Hope it gets better.

-Ruth Ellen

October, 1958

Dear Mom and Dad,

The kids here think I’m incredibly dumb. Every day I do something that makes them laugh at me.

I make mistakes like saying, “Who’s that?” when they mention a name, only to learn that he’s the latest rock and roll star. I said something about a cartoon I’d seen on TV, and everyone was horrified. I guess eighth graders don’t watch cartoons anymore.

If I talk about what I know from Africa or Europe, they think I’m showing off. No one is interested in my world, and I don’t know anything about theirs. Why can’t I go back to Africa, where I fit?

-Ruth Ellen

November, 1958

Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m beginning to realize how hopelessly ugly I am. Here I am wearing nice, sturdy saddle shoes, and other girls wear white gym shoes. My skirts are mostly cotton, but theirs are wool and corduroy. I’ve got lots of short-sleeved cotton blouses; they wear beautiful sweaters.

When I do get to buy something, I don’t think I have very good taste. I thought my “wingy” metal glasses frames were pretty when I got them, but now I know they’re too much. And there’s no way to change them for years.

My teeth are crooked, too. When I smile, the kids think my front two teeth are knocked out. The teacher suggested that I get braces, but I’m sure we can’t afford that any more than we can afford fancy clothes.

I’ve also gotten fat. It’s nice of people to serve us all the wonderful goodies we haven’t had for years: Hawaiian Punch, potato chips, ice cream, pretzels. They all taste terrific—but I’m thirty pounds heavier than I was when we arrived last summer.

What a basket case I’ve turned out to be. I guess I’ll just have to accept that I’ll never be popular or pretty, as I once dreamed of being. Maybe I can at least make good grades.

I know I shouldn’t ask for more when my needs are being met. God was good to put it on someone’s heart to buy the shoes. The clothes cover me. My glasses help me see.

I know I have way more than most of my African friends—but it’s way less than all the kids around me here have. In Africa we seemed rich. Here I feel hopelessly poor.

-Ruth Ellen


December, 1958

Dear Mom and Dad,

I know you don’t understand what’s happened to your nice, sweet missionary kid. I sit with my ear to the radio, listening to the latest hits. Every afternoon I’m glued to the TV, watching Chicago Bandstand. When you ask, I say I like the music.

The truth is that I can’t stand to be so odd anymore. I have to find out what’s going on in this world, so I’ll know what the kids at school are talking about. Yesterday for the first time I joined in one of their usual conversations about their favorite singers and songs. I think they were surprised that I had anything to say! It felt good.

I know you don’t like my music….but thanks for not making me hide it from you.

-Ruth Ellen

April, 1959

Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m going on a diet. With my eighth-grade graduation coming up, I don’t want to be so fat walking down the aisle. Maybe if I start high school a little less ugly, the kids will like me better.

I suppose it’s not very spiritual to wish I were pretty, but I can’t help it. I doubt I’ll ever get married, because I’m so ugly. None of the boys think I’m cute, that’s for sure. Besides everything else, I’m taller than everyone in my class except Robert. They probably think giants grow in Africa.

-Ruth Ellen

August, 1959

Dear Mom and Dad,

It’s been a good summer. I found out for the first time that I can actually feel God’s presence in my life. I’ve always known He was there, and I’ve tried to pray regularly and read my Bible. But in vacation Bible school, we studied the book of James and had to memorize parts of it.

As I think about the verses through the day, suddenly it’s as if everything has come alive! God has promised to give wisdom when I need it. He says the struggles in my life will produce patience and character in me. Maybe all the things I’ve been through this year are for some good after all!

-Ruth Ellen